


If You Can't Beat 'Em

by dotfic



Series: Impverse [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-03-29
Updated: 2009-03-29
Packaged: 2017-10-29 16:35:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/321907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dotfic/pseuds/dotfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The boys adopt an imp. This makes Dean nervous.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If You Can't Beat 'Em

**Author's Note:**

> a/n: Written for [](http://ileliberte.livejournal.com/profile)[**ileliberte**](http://ileliberte.livejournal.com/) on her birthday. I will continue to claim that this series is her fault. It might be [](http://ultraviolet9a.livejournal.com/profile)[**ultraviolet9a**](http://ultraviolet9a.livejournal.com/) 's as well. Set in a bubble of time during mid-season 1.

Dean woke at dawn with a prickly feeling on the back of his neck.

In the other bed, Sam slept peacefully, lying on his side with the covers pulled tight around his shoulders. Good to see him getting some rest.

A quick scratching noise came from over in the corner behind the dresser, so faint that Dean was pretty sure most people would never hear it.

Like claws, skittering against wood.

Dean pulled the knife out from under his pillow and sat up.

"Oh, hell."

The glass jar on the dresser was empty, the lid and iron rods in place. Getting to his feet, knife at the ready, Dean then grabbed a pillow and threw it at Sam.

"Wha--?" Sam startled, arms and legs flailing. He sat up wild-eyed like they were under attack from mortar fire.

Which they might as well be.

"Morning, genius," Dean whisper-shouted. "Guess what? Your little pet escaped."

"Uh-oh."

"Uh-oh, yeah." Dean crept forward, listening for another scratching noise. In the mirror, he noted that his hair wasn't done being plaid just yet. Terrific.

Sam rolled off his bed the other way, movements smooth as a cat's, reaching for his gun. Dean felt a moment of pride.

On the dresser, Sam's bunched-up hoodie sweatshirt stirred.

 _On three,_ Dean mouthed, and Sam nodded.

Dean held up one finger, two fingers, three, and Sam tugged at the sweatshirt.

There was a sharp squeak, a quick movement, and Dean drew back his arm to throw the knife.

"Dean, wait!" Sam hissed.

Dean held.

"Look." Sam jerked his head towards the dresser.

The imp huddled at the base of the mirror, tiny hands clamped over its head, eyes squeezed tight shut. It was shaking, spindly legs taut as guitar strings.

It looked pathetic. No, wait, it was _dangerous_. An imp on the loose. They'd have to kill it. Right now.

But Dean didn't move.

Sam set his gun down on the chair. When nothing happened, the imp slowly opened its eyes and looked at them. When it saw Dean's knife, its eyes widened and it whimpered.

"Oh, for crying out loud." Against every shred of judgment he'd ever had, Dean put the knife away. He could hear Dad chewing him out already.

He and Sam kept standing there, watching as the creature stopped trembling.

It sneezed. Dean flinched.

Nothing happened.

Little guy was kinda cute.

Dean held out his hand. "Hey," he said.

Probably he'd only lose his arm, if he was lucky. This was all Sam's fault, him and his puppy-dog expression and weakness for strays.

The imp sniffed Dean's fingers. Before he could stop it, the thing ran up his arm, claws first sharp against his skin, then digging the cotton of his t-shirt, before the critter nestled on Dean's shoulder.

"Don't move," Sam said, biting his lip, but Dean'd heard his muffled snort of laughter.

"It tickles," Dean said.

The imp made a low _brrr-brrr_ noise.

"What's it doing?" Dean's jaw clenched.

"Purring," said Sam.


End file.
